


is he, you know, [mimes having an emotional crisis in confession] catholic?

by thewolvenhall



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Daredevil - All Media Types
Genre: Food is a love language, M/M, Minor Bucky Barnes/Sam Wilson, Minor Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, actually really soft, everyone's just an idiot, matt's got a crush, rated t for that mild swearing and implication of violence, rip matt honestly, steve's just a firestarter in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29392227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewolvenhall/pseuds/thewolvenhall
Summary: "You know," Steve said aloud, "I don't think Daredevil likes me much."Bucky pulled his head out of the guts of the computer. A strand of hair, loose from his bun, hung down his face. He blew it out of the way and let it resettle into the same exact position. "That's kind of Daredevil's thing," Bucky drawled. He shoved his face back into the machine. "He ain't exactly a friendly neighborhood anything now."On the other hand, when Steve said it to Sam, the man could only offer him a shrug and a clap on the shoulder. "You can't win them all," he'd decreed. Then Sam had just left him there, standing in the middle of the living room, staring into Bucky's plants like they had answers.No, there was something else at play here. Steve would find it, beat it to pieces and clear the air, and then he'd be friends with Daredevil.
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Steve Rogers
Comments: 5
Kudos: 35
Collections: Team Red Server Valentine's Day Pop





	is he, you know, [mimes having an emotional crisis in confession] catholic?

**Author's Note:**

> written for the team red minibang! the art is from BlueBioluminescence on ao3, also on tumblr [here](https://foggy-with-a-matt.tumblr.com/).

If you were to ask Steve how it started, he’d tell you: Like most things these days, it was Peter's fault. And maybe that was what Sam called "deflecting the blame" and "an unhealthy way of looking at the situation", but Bucky had stuck his head through the doorway to loudly comment on how Peter reached out first.

Sam maintained that it would be unfair to blame a child. Bucky expounded about how it was unfair of Sam to keep walking in on this household, bringing in his feelings and therapy talk. Thus, they were at a standstill.

Steve, as always, would leave them to their flirting.

===

It did in fact start with Peter. But to call it his fault would be placing too much of the blame on his shoulders, as at the time, Peter wasn't thinking about the consequences of his actions so much as the college applications he had due at the end of the week. As such, Peter feels that he doesn't deserve this unfair treatment.

But the point remains.

"DD," Peter said. He was standing in-between Steve and the manifestation of Hell's Kitchen's shadows with his arms stretched out at the both of them. "Just show him the ropes, please?"

Steve watched with no little amount of fascination as Daredevil wriggled further into the shadows of the stairwell and growled. The red-clad vigilante hadn't said a single word beyond the sharp "no" he had uttered upon seeing Steve and immediately retreated. Daredevil had crouched down behind the railing, one flight below roof level, and refused to be moved.

The man could not be cajoled out by Peter's kind words. His cold heart would not be softened by Peter gently tugging him forwards. He had been seized by his need to embrace the darkness and Peter's puppy eyes could not deter him.

And judging by the finesse with which Peter handled the situation, Daredevil did this often.

Puffing up, Peter narrowed his eyes. The teenager was in civvies, an oversized hoodie and ripped jeans which Natasha assured Steve was all the rage these days, because Peter had only wanted to introduce Steve and Daredevil. "Fine," Peter declared. "Then I'll introduce Wade instead, and you can just rot."

This meant something to the Daredevil-shaped figure in the stairwell. He launched forwards and up with alarming speed and dragged Peter through the doorway, slamming the door shut in Steve's face. Well, alright then.

"No," Daredevil said. The second word that Steve heard, and it was the same as the first. And technically behind a flimsy steel door that Steve was eavesdropping through.

"Then you've gotta do it." Peter's voice presented an ultimatum. Eighteen years old and negotiating with the devil. "Either Wade's gonna do it, or you're gonna do it, because I'm gonna do my essays. I've got so many essays, DD."

Daredevil emitted a sound that Steve was going to classify as "Exhausted and Tired #3", the same sound that Sam liked to make whenever Bucky got it in his head to be particularly irritating. "Get Danny to do it," he snapped. "I've got places to be."

Judging by the silence on the other side, Peter was not impressed by this suggestion.

The door opened. Peter stood there, engulfed in his hoodie, and craned his neck up at Steve. He started to say something, and Daredevil surged forwards again to pull Peter back into the stairwell. The door closed.

"I'll do it," Daredevil hissed. He flung open the door and glared at Steve, stomping out onto the roof to brood dramatically on the edge of it. The message was loud and clear: He'll do it, but let it be known he's not happy about it.

Steve found this more charming than it should've been. It vaguely reminded Steve of when Bucky, as of late, went on outs with Sam and sulked around the house, moodily watering plants and threatening to suffocate Steve in his sleep. Like he ever would, with how much complaining he did about Steve's lack of self-preservation.

"Sorry about that," Peter said. The soft mass of his hoodie had begun to slowly crawl up his face, like a slow expanding creature that Peter decided was an excellent choice to wear to this midnight rendezvous. "DD doesn't get along well with other people."

"I think we'll get along just fine," Steve told him.

===

(Matt got home at the nice, early hour of three am. Captain-America-call-me-Steve had clapped him on the shoulder and said "let's call it a night and head home" and like a fool, Matt headed home. He flopped onto his couch since his bed remained out of reach, and fished out his phone from his pocket.

"It's three am," Foggy said.

Matt sobbed in reply. "He's so nice," he said, though the sofa cushion muffled his words. "Why does Captain America have to be nice, Foggy? Why does it have to be me? Does God hate me? Is making me teach Captain America to be a vigilante punishment for my sins?"

Foggy hung up on him.)

===

"You know," Steve said aloud, "I don't think Daredevil likes me much."

Bucky pulled his head out of the guts of the computer. A strand of hair, loose from his bun, hung down his face. He blew it out of the way and let it resettle into the same exact position. "That's kind of Daredevil's thing," Bucky drawled. He shoved his face back into the machine. "He ain't exactly a friendly neighborhood anything now."

On the other hand, when Steve said it to Sam, the man could only offer him a shrug and a clap on the shoulder. "You can't win them all," he'd decreed. Then Sam had just left him there, standing in the middle of the living room, staring into Bucky's plants like they had answers.

Steve bounced his leg as he watched Bucky dither around their living room, picking up tools and then putting them back down again. He pulled his other leg up on the chair and rested his chin on it. "Sam says I can't make friends with everybody." Hook, line, and sinker.

Head whipping up, Bucky squinted in Steve's direction. "Sam's full of shit," he said. Pointed a screwdriver. "Full of it. You can't make friends with anybody, that's what." The screwdriver went right into the belly of the beast. "You're always too busy trying to fight 'em. Maybe you oughta fight Daredevil. Two of a kind, the pair of you."

The computer came apart into pieces in Bucky's hands and Steve stilled his leg and watched the sad procession happen.

No, there was something else at play here. Steve would find it, beat it to pieces and clear the air, and then he'd be friends with Daredevil. And what better time than tonight? He told Bucky as much, dropping a kiss on the top of his head and heading for the door. "I'll be back," Steve called out, pulling on a jacket and listening to Bucky's growl in return. Or maybe he was just growling at the computer.

Stepping out into the crisp autumn air, Steve let his options simmer. He decided to begin at the top. Daredevil didn’t like him. Why didn’t Daredevil like him?

In the corner of his vision, Steve caught a brightly colored sign and smiled to himself.

So when he tilted his head up to look at the devil against the neon lights, he went armed with bribes. Steve didn’t know if it was just the need for dramatics or if the vigilante was trying to prove a point, but the man leaped, vaulted, and rolled his way down the building. Effortless and sleek-lined.

His fingers itched for a pen and some paper. But that wasn’t what he was here for. Steve held out the paper bag when Daredevil came slinking over. “I got some pastries!”

“Pastries,” Daredevil said, in the same voice that most people growled the name of their nemesis. Exhibit A, the way that one Sam Wilson tended to say Barnes.

“I thought we could eat before the patrol.” Steve offered the bag to Daredevil again. “It’s going to run late, and I know I don’t like getting hungry midway.”

Daredevil ripped the bag from Steve’s hand and shook it violently.

Steve’s mama taught him manners, so he politely ignored this in favor of unwrapping his own pastry. “I didn’t know what kind you favored, so I got you a powdered donut.” Taking a bite of his own donut, Steve hummed in appreciation. He’d have to remember that shop.

Meanwhile, Daredevil, undergoing some strenuous process of unearthing his snack, tore the donut in two. One half went into his mouth, smearing sugar across his cheek. With raised shoulders, Daredevil hunched in on himself.

Moving slowly, Steve reached forward and tapped the corner of Daredevil’s mouth, startling the vigilante. “Sorry, sorry!” he said. “You’ve just got some on your mouth, here.” Steve reached again and wiped it off with his thumb.

And then Daredevil scowled. “Whatever,” he declared, and pushed past Steve towards the alley. “Catch up, Captain.” But Steve saw him stuff the remainder of the powdered donut into his mouth, so he called it a win.

===

(Matt entered the office while nervously wringing his hands around his cane. He had to meet Captain America tonight as well, and he was not prepared for the emotional devastation that it would bring. He couldn't do this. He'd cancel, but then Captain America would be disappointed, and Matt would have to throw himself on a pike.

Foggy, who only existed to make mockery of Matt's suffering, laughed when Matt nearly walked into a wall. "You alright there, buddy?"

Banging around the room until he found his desk, Matt sat down heavily. "I," he croaked, "think Captain America flirted? With me?"

There came a pause. "Captain America what?")

===

One pastry, and Daredevil seemed pricklier than ever. It tempted Steve, how badly he wanted to draw Daredevil. The man whipped around Steve in combat, fluid grace and deadly precision. He moved just as easily in utter darkness as he did in streetlight, though in streetlight Steve could make out the cut of his jaw.

But as of late, the minute they hit three in the morning, Daredevil declared their patrol over and vanished.

Steve considered his options. On one hand, the easiest target would be Peter. However, Steve didn't like his chances were he to interrupt Peter's self-flagellation over college essays, which the teenager had cheerfully informed Steve over a flurry of text messages were "the bane of his self-esteem".

The second easiest target would be Wade Wilson, otherwise known as Deadpool. But Steve didn't know where Deadpool lived, had never even met the man, and he didn't think that Captain America wandering around looking for Deadpool would be very good for his public image.

The third easiest target lived in Bed-Stuy and had all the emotional resistance of a sea sponge.

Steve texted Clint and received no answer, meaning he had full right to march right up to Clint's apartment and just start knocking until the man himself answered. Something large beyond the door crashed into the floor, and Steve could hear a plaintive cry. A dog barked excitedly, and another crash sounded out.

Clint opened the door. He had bruises on his face, on his legs, down his neck and continuing down past his shirt. His arms were bereft of any marking, which tracked with what Steve knew about Clint. "Aw, Lucky, no," he said, as the golden retriever stuck his head right between Clint's legs. "Come in," he told Steve.

Once Steve had been seated at the dingy kitchen counter with Lucky at his feet and the coffee machine had been started, he dropped the words on Clint. "You’re friends with Daredevil."

“Friends,” he began, pointing a finger in Steve’s direction, “is a very, very broad term.” Steve focused on Clint’s cracked fingernails, while the archer continued his spiel. “We’re not friends. We’re just guys who occasionally wind up bleeding in the same dumpster together. We’re united in our loss of dignity. Daredevil and I have a solidarity.”

Lucky placed his head in Steve’s lap, his tail drumming against the dingy floor of the apartment. The golden retriever whined quietly when no attention seemed forthcoming. In the background, the coffee machine beeped helpfully to signal the finish of a large pot of coffee.

Clint pointed more empathetically. “And whatever you’re planning to do, I can’t help you.”

In reply, Steve only looked down sadly. Lucky looked up sadly, and they met somewhere in-between and held mournful eye contact there. Then Steve looked back to Clint.

All six-foot-three of Clint deflated. Like a balloon, a sad wheeze escaped his lips. “Yeah, okay,” he said. He turned around and grabbed for the coffee pot. “What do you want with Daredevil anyways?”

“I only want to know more about him.” Steve ruffled Lucky’s fur and set off a round of happy tail-thumping. “We’re patrolling together because I don’t want to watch Bucky try to seduce Sam.” Never ended well, for as much as Steve loves Bucky Barnes, he knew Bucky’s many flaws. The first being an absolute disaster when the object of his affections was a man.

“I have so many questions,” Clint told Steve very seriously, and took a cautious sip of his coffee. Steve let him burn himself and waited for the follow-up. “Aw, coffee, no.” There it was.

Steve scritched under Lucky’s chin and patted the dog’s side. “Peter introduced us,” he said.

“That-” Clint stuck out his reddened tongue out for a moment and eyed his coffee. “That doesn’t explain much, at all. Wait, Barnes and Wilson? I thought you and Barnes?”

Lucky barked. He deserved more scritches, and Steve happily supplied while he waited for Clint to go through his five stages of grief. Clint had a highly expressive face. “So. Daredevil? You know him, right?”

“Know is a strong word.” Clint sipped his coffee again. Steve waited.

===

(Matt heard Foggy sneeze, and a clattering, like a cup of pens toppled over. The tumbling and rolling of plastic against carpet under Foggy’s quiet swearing confirmed it. He stuck his head out his office door. “Foggy?” he called. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine!” Foggy volleyed back. “Just felt a sudden chill is all!”

Shrugging, Matt retreated back to his desk. He bent his head down and started reading his latest case, fingers flying over Braille. In the back of his mind, he had the nagging feeling that something was about to happen, but he chased it away. He promised Foggy that he’d read up on this case.

Foggy sneezed again, and pens clattered to the floor. “Fuck!”)

===

Getting up from his chair, Steve ambled down the hallway and paused to watch a different show. A whirlwind tore through their kitchen, clattering bowls together and getting flour all over the cookbook. “I didn’t think you could bake violently,” he commented, so Bucky won’t throw a knife at him.

Steve was held at knifepoint for a second anyways, but that’s why he loves Bucky.

“Are these scones?” He reached out for one, and when no wooden spoon came his way to smack him, Steve plucked one off the tray. He popped it all into his mouth and spoke through a full mouth just to see Bucky glare at him. “It’s good!”

Bucky pointed a whisk at Steve. “It better be, because I baked those this morning and then who else but Wilson tells me he doesn’t like scones?” The whisk went back to thrashing batter in the bowl clutched in a metal hand. A spot of batter clung to Bucky’s cheek as he continued grumbling. “Ungrateful.”

“I like scones,” Steve told him.

The most put-upon sigh escaped Bucky. “I know, ‘s why I made them, but Wilson’s even fussier than you are, and you’re like a damn rabbit sometimes.” He sniffed, and began to pour the new batter onto a baking sheet. “They’re all yours, take them to seduce Daredevil or something.”

Grabbing Bucky around the waist, Steve beams down at him. “Aw, Buck, I love you too.” He grunts when an elbow meets his gut. Laughing, he dances out of whisk-range and back to the counter, tipping the pan’s contents into a bag. Steve can’t resist darting in one more time to plant a kiss on Bucky’s nose.

“Get out of my house!” Bucky shook the whisk, glowering. The crinkle at the edge of his eyes gave his amusement away.

Steve saluted and slid out toward the front door, calling out one last jab. “Have fun on your date with Sam!” He immediately bolted upon hearing the bowl get thrown aside, and reached the street in record time. On his phone, Steve keyed in the address to the Nelson and Murdock firm.

No impressive sight greeted Steve when he finally reached the firm, but he hadn’t expected one. He followed the signs and entered through the door, looking around the small waiting room.

“How can I help you?” the receptionist said.

Steve took off his ball cap and replaced it with an award-winning smile. “Hi, I’m here to see Foggy Nelson?”

The receptionist blinked. “Do you have an appointment?”

He did not have an appointment. “No,” he told her. “But I’m fine waiting until he’s free.” Steve thought he could hear the whistling of wind rushing through a crack, but the sound remained faint even when he concentrated on it.

An office door opened, and a blonde man with a genial face stepped through. Foggy Nelson looked like a man who gave excellent hugs. “I’m free now!” he said, ushering Steve into his office. “Have a seat, how can I help you?”

Steve offered him the bag of scones. “It’s a bit of an unorthodox request. And Bucky baked those, he went on a spree in the morning.” Not quite the whole truth, but close enough. It’s not like he can say that Bucky’s trying to charm Sam with baking.

Nelson made a sound of delight and pulled out a scone. “Unorthodox, you say. Can’t be too bad if it’s Captain America.” Steve watched him bite into the scone and groan.

“From what I’m told, you know Daredevil pretty closely.” Steve leaned back in the chair, and interlaced his fingers. “I suppose I’m here to ask if you could give me any information?”

There came a loud bang from the room next door, startling both Steve and Nelson. Nelson laughed nervously and lowered his half-eaten scone. “I wouldn’t say I know Daredevil closely. Our firm’s just had contact a few times. I’m afraid there’s not much information I can give you.”

“Oh, I’m not trying to arrest him,” Steve hastily explained. “I just wanted to know him better.” He scratches his neck, realizing the awkwardness suffused in the room. “I’ve been working with him the last week and he’s been avoiding me? I only want to mend bridges.”

There came another bang and soon after, a harried looking man clutching a white cane gently opened the door to Nelson’s office. Murdock wore the largest red sunglasses, and had a bandage over a purpling bruise on his face. “Foggy,” he said.

“Matt,” Nelson said back, then turned to Steve. “Actually, meet Matt Murdock. If anything, he knows Daredevil the best.”

A furious blush went across Murdock’s face, and he near hissed at Nelson. “I-” He fumbled with shaking hands and dropped his cane. It rolled and came to a stop near Steve, who picked it up. Murdock’s deep blush went deeper as he reached out and accepted his cane from Steve. “Thank you,” he replied stiffly.

“You know, Matt’s really close with Daredevil,” Nelson mused. “Maybe you guys should make a date out of it. Matt’s free on Friday night, right?” He sorted through the folders on his desk, as he spoke, his voice light. Light in a way that held connotations.

Steve turned his head and looked between Nelson, smug as a cat, and a red-faced Murdock making violent gestures at Nelson. “I’m also free on Friday night.”

“Great!” Nelson grinned. “You should leave your number, Matt can text you his address later!”

He left his number, but not without pausing in front of Murdock, who had since shifted out of the doorway. “Don’t feel any obligation to text,” Steve reassured the man, who just sank further into a miserable hunch. “If you’re uncomfortable with it, there’s no need to go out of your way for me.”

Murdock offered a jerky nod, and Steve left the firm. As he did, he could hear Nelson’s voice, yelling, “Matt! Did you fuck Captain America!?”

===

(“Just let me die,” Matt wailed into his desk, where he’d been pressing his face for the last hour.

Foggy plucked his cellphone from his hands. “Hey, Karen,” he called. “Help me figure out which pick up line Matt should text Captain America.”

Suddenly lunging forward, Matt took Foggy down in a tangle of limbs. Karen observed this and made her decree. “Do ‘W-Y-D’ with a winky face. It’s got Matt energies.”)

===

Friday rolled over like a lazy dog, and Steve once again watched Bucky try his hardest to destroy their kitchen. “It’s kind of sweet that you’re trying so hard,” he said, reaching for a macaron. The spoon snapped out and caught the back of Steve’s hand.

“I will give you zero, God help me,” Bucky threatened. An empty threat, given how many macaron shells littered the counters. They piled up in the corners, shoved out of the way for Bucky’s attempts at a hearty roast of potatoes and beef.

“Give me twenty, I’m going out tonight.” Steve inspected the nearby cooking thermometer, which Bucky made him buy just yesterday after reading that macarons become temperamental in heat. When he only received a grunt in response, Steve clarified. “I’m going over to Murdock’s.”

The doorbell rang, and Steve raised an eyebrow in Bucky’s direction. Once again ignored in pursuit of the perfect roast beef, he sighed and went to get the door. “Sam? What are you doing here?”

“Your boy invited me over for dinner,” Sam explained, holding up a wine bottle with a garish bow around the neck. “Did he not tell you?”

A slow smile spread across Steve’s face as Bucky swore in the kitchen. “Come on in. I’ll have to bail on you two, since I’m meeting a friend soon.” Looking directly at Bucky, Steve spoke. “But I’m sure you’ll have a great time, right, Buck?” To Sam, he commented, “Bucky spent a lot of time getting this ready.”

Bucky cursed again. “Take your macarons and get out!”

Steve grabbed the paper bag that Bucky thrust at him and bounced, cackling at the confused expression on Sam’s face. The night sky wore a dark orange hue, and Steve took the opportunity to walk. The streetlights came on, one by one, as he neared Murdock’s apartment.

A dark shadow leaped across the roof and onto the building, slamming into the roof access.

Steve broke out into a run. Murdock’s text said that his apartment was on the very top floor, and Steve wasn’t willing to risk that this figure might be friendly. If it was Steve who put Murdock in danger, he’d never forgive himself.

He raced up the stairs of the apartment building, skidding out into the hallway of the top floor. The door at the end snapped closed just as Steve reached it. Trying the handle, he found it unlocked.

The large windows of the apartment let the light of billboard in, bathing the industrial walls in a neon glow. In the center of the open room, a man stood, shucking his top off. Steve crept closer and the man resolved himself into the familiar armored figure of Daredevil.

Daredevil, who whipped around as Steve approached, and had the face of Matt Murdock. The same cut of the jaw, the same purpling bruise on his cheek. He buried his face in his hands and dropped down onto the couch.

“I can come back?” Steve offered weakly.

“Just give me a minute,” Murdock croaked, face still in his hands as he got up and stumbled to a sliding door. He opened the door and disappeared into the adjoining room. Five minutes later, he reappeared in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

Steve sat at the kitchen counter, once Murdock gestured for him to sit. A moment of silence passed. “I brought macarons?” he offered, instead of saying any combination of the words you, are, and Daredevil.

Murdock tiredly looked skywards. “Sure, why not.”

===

(In all, it’s a pleasant night. After they clear that first hurdle of Matt being Daredevil, Steve doesn’t seem to hold the secrecy against him.

“No, really!” Steve was saying, gesturing widely. “I would love to just sit down and watch you! If I could have a sketch pad and a pen, I’d definitely try to draw how you just move.”

Matt’s sure of the giant blush across his face as Steve extrapolates on his center line, or something art related. He works up the courage to tease, “Are you asking me to be your model?”

The next Friday, Steve brings baklava.)

===

Sam would probably say that it’s bad form to fuck your lawyer. Good thing his lawyer was Foggy, then. When Steve made that joke to Bucky, he’d laughed so hard that he'd slipped and fallen.

Steve entered the firm just in time to catch Matt and Foggy on their breaks, chatting at the front desk with Karen. “I bring milhojas,” he announced, and saw all three perk up. He smiled to himself, because it’s a little cute how loved Bucky’s baking was amongst the firm.

“That sounds Spanish,” Foggy added jovially, as Steve took up a position on the other side of Matt. “I have no idea what that means, but I will eat it gladly!”

Handing the box to Matt to pass over, Steve watched their glee as they pulled out Bucky’s latest experiment in winning Sam’s affections. Foggy made a show of it, his humor making Karen, who ate much neater, laugh. And Matt bit decisively into his pastry, smearing some of the filling at the corner of his mouth.

“You’ve just got some on your mouth, here.” Steve swiped his thumb over the corner of Matt’s mouth, and didn’t comment on the blush when he licked the cream off.

(And Peter, safe to say, was not very impressed by how this whole situation turned out.)

**Author's Note:**

> technically matt could supersense anything steve does but also he's a human disaster faced with his crush, he's allowed to have his off days.


End file.
